


Games We Play

by BloomingSkyes264



Category: Phineas and Ferb
Genre: F/M, Russian Roulette, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24050152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloomingSkyes264/pseuds/BloomingSkyes264
Summary: One bullet is all it takes.
Relationships: Pinky the Chihuahua/Esmerelda Poofenplotz
Kudos: 3





	Games We Play

Pinky sits down on one of the chairs Esmeralda set up for him as the light above beams down upon them.

It all began as a regular day. Get up, go get information on what Esmeralda was planning on doing for the day, go to her place to stop her admittedly not really evil evil schemes, the usual stuff. Nothing was out of the ordinary up to when he got there. Esmeralda had suggested Russian roulette, nothing that he thought she'd ever mentioned.

She says that it's to settle things once and for all, but he thinks that can't be the only thing. There has to be some ulterior motive that seems more like _her_. He doesn't know what she truly has planned in her sleeves, but he knows it isn't good. Maybe this is her way of getting rid of him, considering how much she hates dogs. Maybe she, for some reason, doesn't want to deal with life anymore. Yet despite everything telling him not to go with it, Pinky agrees to do it anyways. He can't give a good reason as to why he agreed, he knows better than anyone how much shit like this gives him horrible anxiety, worse than he already does.

What if he dies? What if _she_ dies? What if they're both going to die because there's more than one bullet in the gun than there should be? What if she knows how anxious this kind of thing gives him, planning on using it against him by striking when he has an anxiety attack? That's not entirely unlike her to do really. He can't be expected not to think of the worst possibilities that can come from this. Pinky only hopes that this is some elaborate scheme to catch him heavily off guard.

Then again, considering she said that there is a reward for the winner—whichever player wins gets to do whatever they want with the loser's corpse no matter how disgusting or horrid—she might be completely serious and that's what worries him. It's not a game he wants to win nor lose, yet here he is now, about to play the lethal game.

Esmeralda slides the revolver over to him. Pinky hesitantly picks up the gun. He puts it to his head, right up against his temple. It makes and breaks contact every few seconds due to how shaky his body and paws are. That shakiness is his worst enemy. One wrong twitch, and a bullet can come out with no warning, killing him with near certainty. His heart pounds loud enough where it's the only thing he hears. He can swear Esmeralda Poofenplotz was able to hear it as well. Pinky closes his eyes shut as he starts to sweat. He silently gulps.

Finally, after so long of not doing anything, he pulls the trigger.

First click, nothing happens.

He opens one of his eyes to peak. Esmeralda is still there, smug face and all. The way she's looking at him makes him think she's doing this just to fuck with him, or maybe she's nuts, he's not sure which. His other eye opens, both pupils shaking and darting around a little each time. In a near instant, he pulls the gun away from his head. He watches the white haired woman across the table as he slides the barrel out and spins it. He wants to make sure that it's a one in six chance for a bullet to be shot, higher chance they'll both live.

Once the barrel stops spinning, he closes it and slides the gun over to his nemesis. She picks it up with no hesitation whatsoever and points it at her head. The entire time she has a smile on her face. It gives the chihuahua chills down his small, boney spine. The room's lighting doesn't help with that. He grabs a handkerchief from under his fedora. He lightly taps areas of his head to rid the sweating some. Pinky has to reassure himself that nothing will happen, nothing _should_ happen, anyway.

Without a warning, Esmeralda pulls the trigger, scaring Pinky.

Second click, no shot.

He nearly jumped out of his body. Good God there wasn't a bullet in that chamber. She opens the barrel and spins it, just like how he did before. When she's finished, she slides it back to Pinky. Damn it, he's forgotten that they're going two rounds out of three, not just one. He breathes in then out. They're going to make it through this, no one's going to get hurt. Pinky takes the gun and puts it up against his head a second time.

If he dies now, he only hopes Isabella will be fine without him. He closes his eyes. He wishes everyone he knows the best. There shouldn't be any worries with his nemesis, someone will be able to take care of her for him. If he survives, same with Esmeralda, they can both forget this day was ever a thing and pretend it was some fever dream they just happen to have. They can laugh about it later, thinking it's funny how scared he is when in reality there's nothing in them like how he thinks there might be something.

He takes a deep breath once again, preparing himself for possible death. Pinky counts to three before pulling the trigger.

One. Two. Three.

Third click, no sounds indicating death.

He opens his eyes once again. He spins the barrel for its fourth time. Pinky slides it back to Esmeralda, who catches it before it finishes sliding. She places it on her temple, seemingly pressed on it harder than before. His stomach sinks noticing that detail. How he felt before only gets worse and worse. It might be him overreacting and overthinking, but he feels that they need to stop now.

As if Esmeralda can read his mind, she calmly shushes him, way too calm for this particular situation.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine," she whispers, "I won't die."

Yet, he feels that's everything but the truth. His body shivers from her tone. He stands up on the chair. While he does hope she's right, he can't help but get ready in case anything does happen. Pinky watches her fingers carefully. Her index finger taps the trigger lightly, not enough to make it budge, clearly to tease and mess with him. He comes close to jumping her each time to get the gun away. Before he can do anything, she pulls the trigger.

There is no click this time, only a bang.

Pinky's face becomes pale as he watches her body fall off the chair. He immediately jumps off and goes to her. A bullet hole rests on the side of her snow white hair that's soiled with blood. The blood is everywhere, coming close to his hind paws. Her eyes are no longer full of life, but devoid of it. Her blood touches her wrinkled face, not even sparing the side that dares lay cold on the floor. The gun sleeps beside her as if it isn't part of a suicide.

The chihuahua chokes the tears back in his throat. His body trembles more than ever before today. He feels like he's going to vomit. Pinky knows he's been trained to handle this sort of thing, but he can't handle it. He can't bear to see his love down and bloody like this. Nobody could ever prepare themselves for a moment like this whatsoever.

As if on cue, his watch beeps. He turns it on. The watch illuminates his washed out face and his fedora. It's his boss, thank fucking God.

"Agent P, I'm sorry to disturb you, but-" She interrupts herself, examining Pinky's face. "...What's wrong? What happened?"

Pinky doesn't dare bark to answer. He turns his wristwatch to point it at his dead girlfriend. He can tell his boss's face is becoming as pale as his own. He turns it back to him, covering his muzzle. She tells him that help is on the way and to hold on tight.

Right, as if there's anything to hold on to.

He nods anyways and turns his watch off. He looks at her dimly lit face once more. The blood from the wound drips down to her face. He walks over to her, stepping in the blood. Pinky licks the red liquid before it reaches her eyes. The dog bends down onto one knee. He kisses her for the final time. They taste of chicken, funny considering he had some earlier. He shouldn't make such jokes at a time like this, even if he's just thinking it.

Pinky stands up properly. He walks over to the kitchen. He flips on the light switch and the room glows with the white light. Looking at the counters, he finds a knife. It was long and clean; it was out like if it was going to be used. Pinky grabs it as he looks at the blade. The point is sharp, that he can tell without having to put the tip of his digit on it. Besides, he doesn't want any of his toe beans to get stabbed, even if it doesn't matter now.

His ears perk up. He hears the sirens coming close. They're certainly wasting no time to get there it seems. It will take a few minutes for them to arrive, however, so he still has a bit of time left. Pinky turns off the kitchen lights. No need to leave any trouble like that behind. He stands next to the empty shell that's on the floor. He mentally counts to five. Once he finishes, he plunges the knife into his chest, close to his heart. He collapses onto the floor right next to Esmeralda.

If she manages to survive somehow, then he'll be there right beside her. If she doesn't, then he'll be with her no matter what. It's his fault that he didn't stop her, that he didn't get rid of the gun sooner.

Pinky hears the front door of the building get kicked down before his vision fades to black.


End file.
